I walked out to find water enthusiastically pouring from my kitchen ceiling & cabinets. Husband ran upstairs to tell the darlings from above to stop doing whatever brilliant thing it was they were doing. I closed my eyes and tried to bargain with god to change the gallons of water filling my kitchen into a different situation. I would have welcomed The Situation, Snooki and the whole cast of Jersey Shore into my apartment for an in-depth discussion of GTL if it would have disappeared the fresh hell I was witnessing. I'd have been willing to mediate an argument between Sammi and the big, angry one, or even catch a few fists with my face in place of the small, drunk, delusional one, just for what was being visited upon my apartment not to be happening.
Husband came back. Apparently, "a hose came loose". Oh, well of course - my place is literally teeming with loose hoses. I've lost count of them. Water was running down my cabinets, splashing cheerfully on my counters, pooling on my kitchen floor - and now sleazily traveling along beams and dripping from my living room ceiling onto my carpet. I hear a ping. It's my brain.
Guess how long it took maintenance to come? I have no idea, because I was freaking the fuck out. But he said he'd be there in fifteen minutes, and it was a fuck of a lot longer than fifteen minutes. He let us know that when he got upstairs, she'd already cleaned up the water. Oh well gooood. for her. Allow me to introduce you to gravity, you gentle genius. Gravity cleaned up your water. It's the same force working on your tits. It's a fickle mistress!
After asking Speedy McMaintenance about sixty times, I finally wrestled out of him that the hose which "came loose" was the drainage for the washing machine. Then, it wasn't so much a matter of coming loose, it was a matter of someone being too terminally stupid to put it in the gigantic hole properly. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that wrong? I happen to know that Patsy fucking Stone from Ab Fab could manage that task, and she hasn't eaten anything except for booze and pills since 1974, sweetie darling.
So, we've got a swamp carpet that's filled with chemicals which may or may not irritate my children's skin. We get to have carpet cleaners and maintenance staff all over our apartment for god knows how long fixing this shit, having our life in upheaval, while the jackasses upstairs continue with their inspired, inconsiderate lives, treating their balcony like a makeshift kennel - which, just happens to be right outside my bedroom - having had their lives inconvenienced by about 15 minutes, the poor dears.
Meanwhile, our neighbors have done nothing to apologize. If I had done this to someone, I'd have been mortified and not only would I have rushed downstairs with an armload of towels offering to help, I would have been buying them dinner. But, to be fair, I'd hate to cut into this woman's fat ass admiring time, and completely booked dog ignoring schedule. I'm sure she's busy. For the sake of Pete, she must be dead on her feet from throwing a scoop of dog food out the sliding glass doors twice a day. I am not unsympathetic.
We have been reassured that someone with a conscious mind will make sure the hose is properly stuck into the drainage hole up there. I sure hope so. If this were to happen again, I would definitely get arrested for snatching a bitch bald in her doorway.